Read or Die: The Crossover
by Drunken Vickster
Summary: A crossover between Buffy and Read or Die: Tara Maclay, aka The Paper, must save the world from evil author clones with the help of her partner, Faith, aka Miss Deep, and the brilliant young writer Willow Rosenberg.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes:

1.) I do not own _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ nor the various incarnations of _Read or Die_. I merely twist the characters to my will, like any evil author would do.

2.) If you are unfamiliar with _Read or Die_, please read at your own risk because there will be some spoilers.

3.) Thank you for reading!

Chapter First: Destined (But Definitely Planned) Meetings

The apartment was, to put it simply and to avoid unnecessary pleasantries, a dump. There seemed to be no signs of recent human habitation, and a fine layer of dust covered quite a bit of the inanimate inhabitants of the apartment. Speaking of whom, the books covered every surface of the space, filling the bookcases that leaned against most of the walls and then stacking up to the wall against the remaining walls. Every available flat space was also stacked high with books, from kitchen counters to tables and couches. Even the bed was conspicuously covered in a messy table of pages.

Suddenly, a phone was ringing somewhere, sounding muffled. It rang in the silence of the apartment four times before a loud click signaled the engagement of the answering machine. "Hi! You have reached Tara Maclay. I'm not able to come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I'll get right back to you." A beep, and a monotone female voice began speaking.

"Hello, Miss Maclay. This is Sunnydale Independent School District. We were wondering if you could substitute an English class today for the whole day. It'll be a 12th grade advanced class at Wilkins High…"

Upon these words, the pile of books on the bed suddenly shifted. An arm reached out for something, and found a pair of glasses at the bedside stand, on top of a pile of books. A blonde woman emerged from her cocoon, long enough to hear, "… so please call us back within the next five minutes to confirm. Thank you." Click.

Tara looked blearily at the clock, which read 6:07 am. She pushed a lock of hair out of her face with one hand and covered up a yawn with the other. Her mind slowly but surely began to process faster, and the day began to come into focus. Her quick brain drew up her plans for the day as delineated some time last night before she has begun her nightly reading and been so absorbed as to only by long habit randomly fallen asleep at some point.

First, she had to get more books. This was definitely not abnormal; buying more books was always the first item on her daily checklist, but today she felt an extra need, as she only had about three unopened ones left, which could scarcely get her to lunch. Second… well, there actually wasn't a second on the list as of yet. She went over in her mind whether she wanted to spend the day lounging with some new books or working. Certainly teaching wasn't Tara's forte: she found kids to be loud, distracting, and generally very lacking in the care of their textbooks. But she had to make money to feed her "habit", as her kinder friends called it, so she went through her extensive memory banks to see whether this opportunity would lead to her crying in front of a class again when a student openly made fun of the poetry of Alexander Pope. Boy, I'm never working at that Sunnydale High again, she had avowed.

But Wilkins High had not only less of a stigma (the students usually managed to merely nod off in class) attached to it, but was also the school that one of Tara's current favorite authors went. And if she remembered correctly, that writer was in the 12th grade and no doubt taking advanced English…

Tara suddenly dove out of bed, managed to trip and catch herself from falling three times, and finally reached the phone. She pulled several books from a pile in the living room to reveal the phone, and dialed the number to Sunnydale School District offices from memory. Willow Rosenberg went to Wilkins High!

Tara took jobs at Wilkins more often than at other schools because she was always trying to catch a glimpse of the young writer. But having a random substitute teacher walking around and being snoopy was awfully suspicious to most folks and Tara hadn't had any success in seeing Ms. Rosenberg. But now, since she knew she was a senior and thus must be taking that class, Tara only had to wait for her to show up! Her excitement over the phone seemed to have no effect on the secretary that confirmed her position, but that didn't matter. Tara hastily hung up the phone and began her morning ritual, which in her state of mind—boy, a good book would calm her down right now but she hadn't the time—took much longer than it should have and she forgot to brush her hair. She was out of the door in ten minutes and beginning her walk to Wilkins High. She'd had her driver's license revoked long ago and thus biked or walked wherever she needed to, so she needed a little extra time to get there. She hardly noticed the time, however, as she blissfully meandered to her destination, somehow wending her way to the high school despite her nose being buried deep in a book.

Such was the morning of Tara Maclay, aka The Paper.

* * *

Willow looked out of the window of her math classroom. She was the type to read ahead in her lessons, so the droning of her bespectacled Calculus teacher was mere review to her. Hence she tended to be a bit of a space cadet in class, mind drifting off to a different universe of her own making. Space travel… Willow mulled the thought over. A story involving her and some space travel might make some interesting fiction. She filed the thought away for later as she was currently involved in too many projects. 

Willow frowned. She didn't like that rationality. Her first two novels had sprung from random snippets of thought, and in flurries of creative nirvana she had produced works that had made her the darling of the publishing industry. After her initial success, writing had become progressively more difficult. First of all, her time was cut into by occasional interviews and meetings with her editor, as well as the increasingly difficult course load associated with going through high school at an accelerated rate as she was. Then, to her consternation, she constantly battled writer's block. Hearing stories about this nefarious agent of evil and methods of battling it did little to prepare her for the awful truth of it as it did its level best to confound her efforts. With deadlines looming, it grew louder, nipping at her concentration and lapping up her creative stores.

But this was the life Willow had chosen. Of all of the professions she could have chosen, she had chosen this fickle field that had high risk and generally had little yield. There was no guarantee that hard work will generate money, fame, or gay love. Her parents didn't like the idea, either. Her mother was a researching and practicing psychologist, and had hoped her daughter would follow her into a more science-oriented career. Her father was a staunch academic; while he could appreciate her efforts with language, since he was an expert in translating and analyzing medieval literature, he preferred the musty dungeons of his ancient libraries to the perplexing and volatile public arena.

It made Willow's forehead crinkle, the thought of being someone whose name was known. She was so popular in California that her hometown had devoted a day to her; Sunnydale must have really needed something to celebrate. She had won awards but none more prestigious than the American Novel Youth Award, and she had been so full of light and juvenile optimism. Now she felt bogged down and taunted by her blank word processing documents as she stared for hours at them without a single word being written. Sometimes she would doze off and wake up deliriously happy because she saw that the document from 8 pages long; then she would realize that it was all the letter "t" and her nose had been pushing down on the keyboard while napping.

Shaking her head, Willow returned from space to her classroom, noting that the teacher hadn't written anything new to her on the board. A quick glance at the decrepit clock on the wall revealed that it was one minute before class let out, and she could hear the restless rustling of the other students as they began to put some of their things back into their book bags. Taking her cue from them, Willow did the same and the teacher looked up from the chalkboard and made some announcements about homework and upcoming quizzes. Willow listened with half a mind and stood up from her seat immediately upon hearing the bell ring, joining the march of her fellow students.

It wasn't that she was in a hurry to leave or in a hurry to get where she was going. Her English class was in the next building and she didn't have to stop at her locker. Making her way through the busy halls, she felt a push from behind and whirled around to confront her assailant.

Jesse held up his hands in mock surrender. "Don't hurt me!" he exclaimed, posing as if frightened, but his smile was disarming and meant no harm. Willow smiled back and punched him lightly in the arm.

"Don't scare me like that, jerk!" she said teasingly, turning to continue walking down the hall.

Jesse moved in step with her. "It's always interesting to disturb you from LaLa Writer's Land. I'm still hoping you'll outdo the one time you said, 'Forsooth the frogs cometh!'"

Willow blushed deeply. She tended to be a little absorbed when plotting her next story. That particular one had been set in medieval times—her father's research always made her want to take advantage of his genius and craft a story around that time period—and she had been contemplating a villain. Frogs are very villainous creatures and she was just attempting to explicate exactly how, in period language, when Jesse had done his usual jumping out of nowhere shtick. Ah well, best that it was embarrassed out of her. Nobody said "forsooth" in medieval times. Did they?

"Sorry to disappoint," Willow said wryly, "I was actually thinking no thoughts in particular."

Jesse made an exaggerated motion that Willow, with her limited knowledge of men's body language, assumed meant he was aghast. "Willow without thoughts!" he said, gasping, as they stopped at the door of her classroom. "Why, that's like a tree without flowers!"

Willow never could quite understand Jesse's attempts at similes and metaphors, so she noncommittally gave a pseudo-smile and waved goodbye and entered her English classroom. She headed to her usual seat near the front—not the front row, because she didn't want to seem like a teacher's pet, though she was—and plopped down ungracefully in it.

Nobody else was in the room, since there was a full three minutes before class started. Looking to the front of the classroom, Willow noticed that Mrs. Sanchez was not at her desk, but instead there sat a younger woman with long blonde hair. She seemed wholly immersed in the book she held in her hands, and her eyes behind her glasses quickly skimmed back and forth over the pages. Her head was somewhat bowed, but Willow thought she looked pretty. Willow concluded that she must be the substitute teacher, and a young one, at that. Fresh out of college, Willow inquired to herself. The relaxed set of the woman's shoulders as she read, her even breathing, and the small smile on her lips quietly inspired Willow, and the redhead wished she could write a vignette right then to capture the moment.

The shrill ringing of the two-minute warning bell, however, broke her and the teacher out of their respective reveries, and students began to enter. The substitute looked up from her book, looking startled, as if she didn't remember how she got there. Her eyes traveled over the new information of students entering, until they fell on Willow. Bored, Willow had been observing her in return and when the teacher's blue eyes fell on her, the orbs widened.

The teacher suddenly stood up from her seat, making an unpleasant grating sound as the chair scraped away from her, and cried, "Willow Rosenberg!"

The entire class, with the exception of a few stragglers still coming in immediately turned to the teacher, silent and bewildered. Then the titters started, and soon the class was giggling. The teacher blushed furiously, hiding behind her hair.

The students then glanced at Willow, who maintained a nonchalant look on her face. Bored, they returned to their conversations. Willow thought this might be an interesting class.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Second: An Occurrence at Wilkins High

After her initial strangeness, the teacher seemed to collect herself, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. She cleared her throat. "Hello, class. My name is Ms. Maclay. Mrs. Sanchez is sick today, but should return soon."

That may be what she said, but in reality Tara was leaping for joy that this Sanchez woman had taken ill. There was Willow Rosenberg, not six feet from her, looking at her with green eyes shining bright with youth and genius and excitement about learning and many other positive attributes that weren't actually there, Tara realized. Willow had adopted essentially the same measured, attentive look that students generally gave the substitute teacher, eyeing her for weaknesses that could be exploited, and whether she could be convinced to allow them out early. To her credit, Willow simply seemed bored and not conniving.

Pinching her own cheek, Tara straightened her back. "And as per her notes, we will be discussing 'An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge' and tying it to past Realist readings…"

Thus began the lesson. Tara enjoyed teaching, usually; it gave her a forum for her to discuss books that she loved. Reading was the greatest, but sometimes it was nice to be the star of your own story, too. And in the back of her mind, Tara constantly thought about how she would approach Willow. Of course, she would definitely have to get her autograph. The idea of tracing the lines of her signature gave Tara a shiver of anticipation. She would value that book with her life. In fact, Willow's latest book, _On Witches and Vampires_, was nestled in Tara's bag, awaiting christening.

Could Tara possibly ask for more? Would it be okay if she asked her to have lunch with her? The thought drove Tara mad. They could discuss literature and Willow's next projects and their favorite books and favorite bookmark designs and…

Tara realized that she had stopped speaking and the class was looking at her expectantly. The two-thirds of the class that remained awake, of course, Willow amongst them. Tara cleared her throat. "And enough of me talking, what do _you_ think?" she covered.

Thus the class went until, in too short a time, the bell rang. Tara panicked. She had to talk to her now! What would she say? As Willow gathered her things, slung them on her back and drew near, Tara felt the heat rising to her face already. Her throat was blocked; she couldn't speak!

Somehow, a peep came out. It was enough to draw Willow's attention. Now the redhead, the writer of such amazing fiction, was looking straight at Tara.

"I love your writing!"

Willow stood stock still and stared at the substitute teacher in front of her. She wasn't used to people gushing enthusiastically about her work to her face; even in a small town like Sunnydale, the California mentality meant that people generally kept their cool and pretended she wasn't there. But this woman had accosted her and Willow gave her a considered look.

The woman's hair was sort of dirty blonde, and was parted in zigzags towards one side of her head. Her glasses didn't conceal the nervous expressiveness of her large blue eyes, or the hopeful blush on her cheeks. After a moment, when Willow didn't respond immediately, the woman seemed to hide behind her hair, and crossed her arms over her vested chest.

"Thanks," Willow said finally, and warmly. The woman looked up at her quickly and smiled a brilliant smile. Willow blinked at its brightness, and found herself answering it without conscious thought.

The substitute took the initiative. "I-I have been a fan s-since your first book," she said earnestly. There was a pause, as Willow wondered whether she should thank her again or something. "Could I get… get your autograph?"

Willow nodded, her breath coming out quickly in relief. She didn't know she was holding it. Tara shuffled over to the desk and pulled out _On Witches and Vampires _from her bag, and cast about for a marker. Finding one amongst the many colored pens of Mrs. Sanchez's desk, she triumphantly returned to Willow, displaying the two items shyly.

Willow took the book, and for a moment, she traced the cover with its raised letters and glossy finish. This one had obviously been read; when she opened it there was no telltale creak of a binding bending for the first time, and the pages smelled less like the pungent tang of a new book and more like… applesauce?

The student smiled at herself and looked up at the substitute. Ms. Maclay was watching her avidly, a small smile on her lips, and Willow blushed. "Uh, sorry," Willow began. "I'm not used to people coming up to me."

Tara eyes widened and her face adopted a look of mortification. "Oh, my, I'm so sorry to bother you!" she exclaimed. "I didn't think of how rude it would be of…"

She was interrupted by Willow lifting the pen out of her hands. "No need to apologize at all, Ms. Maclay," she said with a heartfelt smile. "I love the attention. I'm just not used to it because, with writing, people normally don't know what you look like. I mean, I'm a terrible public speaker and can't control my babble at all whenever I'm in a nervous situation but with writing you can hide behind the pages and I'm sorry for babbling as I do and…" At this point Willow's smile had faltered and she had to take a deep breath.

The teacher, for her part, had watched Willow with a bemused look but as soon as Willow broke, she jumped in. "No, your babble's fine! Cute, even!" She blushed at her forwardness, and Willow blushed at the compliment.

The older woman cleared her throat. "And, what you said about hiding… I think that, really, you can't hide yourself when you write. I mean, writing like you do." Her blue eyes gazed at Willow and then seemed to reach further, into her. "You created these words and through hundreds of pages you begin to understand who the author is and what they are trying to tell you…" She flushed again and ducked her head. Willow let out the breath she had been holding ever since they had locked eyes.

Uncapping the pen, Willow returned the conversation to a place she was familiar with. "So, what should I write for your autograph?"

Ms. Maclay looked up, her eyes widening. "Oh, um, I don't… I'm not sure…" she finished lamely.

Willow contemplated the blank first page. A light bulb flashed in her mind. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Tara," the substitute teacher readily replied.

"Tara," Willow repeated with a smile, crinkling her eyes happily when a more confident smile came from the blonde in front of her. Quickly, she scribbled a message, and with an air of solemnity, she closed the book firmly and with two hands, returned it to Tara. The blonde held the book in her hands with reverence, and then cradled it to her bosom. Her face held a look of utter amazement.

"Thank you so much," she whispered, their eyes locking.

Willow broke the gaze, not quite able to handle the pure admiration in the blonde's blue eyes. "No problem," she mumbled. "Anytime you'd like, I'll sign…"

"How about today?" Tara interjected. Willow blinked. Tara leaned in closer, still clutching the book to her bosom. "I'm free this afternoon, and if you could sign my copy of _I've Always Known You_, I would… I could just…" Words seemed to fail her. "It's my favorite," she finished feebly.

Willow had always thought that she was shy. Part of the reason she became a writer was because she was scared of going out into the real world, with vampires for bosses and soul-sucking realities that couldn't be escaped. And rude baristas. Those were the worst.

But in Ms. Maclay she had found someone even more burdened by shyness than she. Or maybe someone who understood it.

"I have a thing to do right after school, but maybe we could meet at the Coffee Bean at 4?" she asked.

It was a vision of intense sublime beauty when Tara looked up at her and beamed. Willow thought she might have been smiling back, but she was dazzled and so was only slightly aware of how she started to leave the classroom and wave good-bye. Ms. Maclay waved back, and then Willow was back in the hallway, joining the bustling stream of students.

Tara watched her go, her face beginning to hurt from smiling. Students began walking in for the next class, waking Tara from her daze. She moved over to the teacher's desk, and remembered she was still holding the book in her arms. Placing the book on the desk, Tara couldn't fight the temptation and opened it to the first page.

'To Tara,

I'm sure I'll see you again!

-Willow Rosenberg'

* * *

Author's Notes:

Wow, I might have lost a huge portion of my frontal lobe this last week due to Spring Break hijinks. Two words: Worth It.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter the Third: She Finds Me Charming

Tara left the school grounds in a haze. She even had a book opened in front of her, as was her usual method of traveling, but she wasn't even looking at it, or anything around her for that matter. In her mind's eye fluttered the delicate image of Willow, smiling and being a wonderful-type person, much more so than Tara had imagined when she read her books.

Ah, books. In reward for a good day's work, Tara decided that she had enough time before her meeting with Willow for a quick book buying run to her favorite bookstore.

Two blocks into downtown—Sunnydale was by no means a booming metropolis and one more step beyond would have meant she was beginning to walk _out_ of downtown—Tara entered a nondescript office building. She entered the elevator and, after entering a code onto the floor number buttons, she slid a card into an extending drawer and the elevator descended into an area that definitely did not have a button.

The doors of the elevator opened into an obvious basement level room, which was filled to the brim with books. There seemed to be no particular order to the shelves, and the entire place held the distinct scent of must and old books. Tara began to smile the particular smile that meant she was in her element. Twitching her fingers in anticipation, she began her search for her next few days' worth of reading.

Towards the back, one particular book, for no apparent reason, caught Tara's attention. It was old, with brown leather binding, and the title was in German. Upon reading the title, _Der Geist Hilft_, Tara decided that maybe it was a good time to brush up on her German. In fact, the seven other languages she was able to read were all in desperate need of practice, so making up her mind to pick this book and others in German, Tara reached for it.

A hand touched hers on the way up. A woman with obviously fake blonde hair and glasses gave her a stern look, much like an angry librarian. Luckily, Tara had had a few run-ins with those—and of course, many more librarians of the nice variety—so she was unfazed in her determination.

"Um, sorry, I saw this book and…" Tara clutched at it suddenly, as if it were a grabbing race. The other woman looked at her as if she was crazy. Tara thought it best to play that card. "And I must buy it or the next person who owns it will eat my soul, so, um, bye!"

Turning on her heel and heading towards the front counter, Tara wondered where her imagination came from and whether she read too many books. 'Impossible!' she thought, and merrily continued on her way.

On the way to the front counter, which was actually little more than a plank separating her and the store owner, Tara managed to snag 7 books. She heaved her heavy burden onto the plank, and the owner, an old man with a constantly purring cat, didn't even turn around from his television viewing while saying, "$63.75."

Tara pulled her wallet from her voluminous jacket and found to her dismay a lone $20 bill. "Um…" she mumbled. The man raised one finger at her, and she frowned even deeper. The cat in his arms looked over the man's shoulder at her and blinked.

Sighing, Tara picked one book: _Der Geist Hilft_. She would have to wait for her next paycheck to keep all the others she had hunted and gathered. Getting her change, Tara then headed back out the door. Even before the elevator doors closed in on her, she was already reading the book and was engrossed.

The elevator's chime to remind her of their arrival on the first floor was only noticed enough for Tara to begin to float out of the elevator, her eyes glued to the text in front of her. The pages were yellowed, almost brown with age, and along the margins were little scribbles of letters and numbers that didn't make any sense. The book itself, Tara immediately noticed, was romantic, and she felt herself begin to blush as the words of love were uttered over and over.

Somehow—and indeed Tara didn't know how she always managed to get to where she needed to be without being run over or getting lost—she made it to the her apartment, and picked up Willow's book, her face still buried in the book. She then ended up at the Coffee Bean. She looked up at her surroundings, surprised, and checked her watch. She was a few minutes early still, and decided to sit at a table and wait for Willow. Seating herself distractedly, she locked her eyes on the book again and was lost.

* * *

Willow was running a little late. The literature club was holding a bake sale and for reasons unknown they insisted she remain for the entirety of the meeting. Willow had to resist the urge at every meeting to suggest something radical: actually reading or writing literature.

"Yeah, so we can open our books and have our noses stuck in books," said the president (her name was… Skankface? Her dorky outfit and glasses didn't fool Willow for a second). "Please, let's not be stereotypical." Willow would grumble and then sit back down on her couch. She didn't find anything wrong with books and enjoying them, despite what others thought. But then again, that's how she made her money.

Entering the Coffee Bean, Willow spied Ms. Maclay… Tara, rather, tucked away by the wall, her nose stuck in a book. Willow's mouth quirked into a smile. It was kind of cute; well, as cute as Willow thought she could get away with thinking of an older teacher. As Willow walked over, the substitute teacher's glasses fell down her nose, and were absently pushed up with one finger. Willow found herself entranced for no particular reason with the motion. Her feet managed to get her to Tara's table, only bumping into other tables and chairs a couple of times.

She sat herself across from Tara, looking at her with a smile. Tara didn't look up from her reading. Willow cleared her throat, and when that got no attention, slid her chair across the floor, making a screeching noise. Tara might as well have been deaf. Willow took her index finger and hooked it to the top of the book, pulling it down so that she and Tara could lock eyes over the top of the text.

Tara's eyes widened. "Oh, Willow, sorry!" She carefully put the book down, using a stray napkin as a bookmark. "I get kind of… um…" She was blushing and looked down at the table, looking up only once at Willow, which only caused her to blush deeper.

Willow smiled. "It's okay. I'm glad you like reading so much. Don't be shy about getting into it." She plucked a napkin from the dispenser on the table and began to fold it so to have something to do with her hands. "I appreciate, really," she said, looking up at Tara. "I'm a writer, after all."

Tara's blush faded, replaced by another brilliant smile. Willow had to blink first from the gaze. "So," the redhead began, "Want to get in line for coffee?"

"Sure," Tara replied, and together they walked to the line. Tara got a chai tea ("Coffee makes me wacky.") while Willow got herself a double-shot mocha ("Without coffee I'm wacky.")

Sitting again at the table, they weren't sure what to do next. Neither was sure whether this counted as a friendly meeting, or maybe a date, so the conversation level remained casual and neutral. They both felt, however, the inklings of a connection between two compatible minds, and after drinking their choice beverages, they began to loosen. As with any conversation with literature buffs, the subject of favorite author was broached.

"Historical or Contemporary?" Tara asked.

Willow thought for a moment. "Historical, I guess."

"Edith Wharton," Tara said without second thought.

Willow's jaw dropped. "For real?"

Tara bit her lip as if unsure. "I think so. I mean, that's the first author to come to mind." She looked at Willow. "How about you?"  
Willow shrugged. "I'm still young; I've got a while to go before I can be sure. For now, at the risk of being stereotypical," and she smirked self-consciously, "I'd say Jane Austen."

Tara smiled reassuringly. "Jane Austen is totally a great choice. She's brilliant, really, for portraying the lifestyle of whomever she was writing about so realistically." Tara blushed. "Sorry, I could go on forever on the merits of great authors."

Willow shook her head. "No, that's fine. Please, babble on. You may not know this about me, but I happen to be the babble queen. You haven't seen it yet, but oh yes, the queen inside will reveal herself in time." Willow smiled deeper, spellbound by Tara's charmed smile. _She finds me charming!_

Willow was struck by a sudden, brilliant thought. "Would you like to see the new _Pride and Prejudice_ movie with me?" She almost immediately regretted asking. Teachers would definitely not agree to seeing a movie with just one student, even if only platonically (which Willow found herself really hoping was not the case here). Backtracking, she said, "I mean, so we could compare notes on the interpretation and say how much it sucks because nothing could ever compare to the book of course or at the very least not to the Colin Firth version though that was a miniseries so it could go into detail while this is just a two hour movie but Kiera Knightley's in it and she kicks butt though not literally in this particular…" Willow thought she would die from asphyxiation because she couldn't stop babbling because Tara was staring at her.

"That sounds great," Tara interjected, saving Willow's life. She smiled gently. "When is a good time for you?"

Willow took a moment to catch her breath. _I can't believe she said yes! Go me!_ "I'm free tonight," she replied.

Willow's heart stopped as Tara thought about it. "I'm free, too," Tara finally said. She pulled a pen out of one of the pockets of her huge brown leather jacket—Willow didn't notice it until just now: it was warm outside, how was she wearing a knee length coat?—and Tara then grabbed a napkin. She wrote on it, and then turned it to Willow, revealing a phone number. "Call me later tonight?" To Willow, Tara seemed to be slightly blushing, but it could have been her imagination. No doubt Tara thought of her as a cute kid or writer, and thought little of this.

Willow thought it best to give her an out, in case. "Sure thing. Plus, you'll have time to invite a friend if you want."

Tara's eyes widened. "Oh, I should invite a friend?"

Willow panicked. "I mean, if you have a friend you'd like to bring, I mean, that's okay."

Tara looked confused. "I wasn't going to… I mean, unless you have a friend…"

Willow's eyes widened and she held her hands in front of her emphatically. "Oh, no, I'm friendless!"

Tara nodded slowly. "Yeah. I mean, not that I don't have friends…" That was the truth, if the old man at the bookstore counted.

"Right, friends, I have those, too," Willow said, feeling absurdly goofy but at the same time she felt as if she and Tara had just communicated something. This was made especially certain by the way Tara was smiling goofily back her. Was Willow starting to really like her? Why did it seem as if light was playing about Tara's face? Oh crap, were angels going to sing now? Should Willow denounce her distaste for Romantic poetry?

Willow came to her senses and realized that the light was not of her own mind's making, but actually coming from behind her. Tara's eyes unfocused off of her as well and Willow turned around in her seat to see what was making the inside of the Coffee Bean light up like a disco.

Through the front of the store, which was made up completely of glass windows, was visible what appeared to be a prowling animal. And it was on _fire_. Willow's eyes widened as the animal, after pacing restlessly for about two seconds, seemed to look directly at her—it was a tiger, she realized—and without preamble, roared.

It was as if a bomb went off, and the glass at the front of the store exploded in, hurtling towards them as if chased by the thunderous roar. Willow froze, unable to move from shock. Tigers don't roar. Then the world went black as if a shade had been drawn in front of her eyes.

Author's Notes: I apologize for the time since the last chapter: I'm hurtling towards graduation (Bachelor of Arts? Me?) and thus I have to be productive in other aspects of my life. Crazy! Expect the next chapter within a week! Although, if you know how "college-time" works, a week can be stretched pretty far…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Cuatro: Kiera Knightley Does Jane Austen

The world had suddenly darkened. Willow realized that she was conscious, because she could hear the harsh sound of her breathing echoing off of something, but she was completely blind. She rapidly blinked but there remained no change in the utter blackness surrounding her. Her breathing quickened, and her wildly beating heart started a faster tempo as she felt the beginnings of a panic attack.

She nearly lots her wits when she felt hands touch her shoulders from behind her. "Shh, it's me."

Willow tensed until her teeth nearly cracked before realizing that it was Tara's voice. She found her own voice. "What's going on?"

She simply heard another hushing sound before the fingers left her shoulder, traveled down her arm, and then squeezed her hand before disappearing. Willow held her hands around her body and gripped the material of her shirt, feeling disoriented and dizzy when she couldn't see or feel anything around her.

Ahead of her, a pinpoint of light appeared. Tara's face was lit as it seemed as if she magically created a hole in whatever wall was in front of them, peeking out with one eye. She turned back to look at Willow, the tiny bit of light glinting off of her glasses. Willow wasn't sure, but it seemed as if Tara had a sad expression on her face.

The wall around them suddenly collapsed, and daylight made Willow's eyes dazzle. Her eyes were drawn, however, not to the wreck of the coffee shop around her, or the blown in windows, but the paper that had formed their cocoon moving as if by magic, some of it shooting up into the sleeves of Tara's knee-length coat. Despite their quick movement, Willow could detect the Coffee Bean logo and what she now surmised were napkins.

Tara definitely looked sad. Her glasses and blonde hair covered her face well, and Willow wanted to know what had just happened. She had no idea how to ask, however, with the millions of questions in her mind, so she remained paralyzed, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound issued forth.

Tara looked at her, one long, lingering gaze that asked its own questions. When Willow still couldn't speak, Tara looked stricken, and then ran right out of the door—actually, through a blown-out window—and took off.

Willow looked around. All of the windows were gone, and the glass shards all over the floor, save for a circle around her. She lifted her chair that had been toppled and righted it. Then she sat on it. Being nearer to the level of the table, she noticed that Tara's two books were still lying there. Her mind caught up to the simple necessity and, taking one last look around the now empty and trashed coffee shop, she swept up the books and headed out of the door. Well, however much of the door there was, since the actual door had been blown into the front counter and muffin display.

* * *

Tara jogged awkwardly down the street, following the scorch marks on the ground in the shape of a big cat's paw. Seeing Willow all shocked, with that questioning look in her eye made it easy for Tara to bolt. 'Less than one date and my freakish powers are already ruining my best chances for a girlfriend in…' Tara mentally calculated. '… Ever!'

But Tara knew she had to follow the burning lion/tiger/liger. She had the power, and with that power comes the responsibility to use it wisely and correctly. Plus, the Library was sure to page her at any moment about the incident anyway.

She found herself at the Sunnydale town square, which was little more than a brick courtyard, surrounded by antique stores and boutiques. In the center of the courtyard there was also a fountain, with lighter colored bricks laid out like the rays of the sun. She ran to the fountain, wondering why the tracks ended, and where the people who normally haunted the area were.

A roar made the water of the fountain shiver and Tara turned to see the flaming tiger blocking the only exit. It roared again and leaped, coming at Tara surprisingly fast. She managed to dodge only barely, and she could feel the real heat of the beast as it grazed by her, and only by instinct did she pull out a shield of paper in time to stop its tail from whipping her.

The tiger quickly regrouped and turned to face her, the flames dancing from his jaws making his snarl even more menacing. Plus, since he was on fire, Tara knew her abilities could only go so far before he burned all of her paper ammunition.

The tiger charged again, and this time it came closer before leaping, and Tara couldn't dodge. She threw a shield of paper up from the reserves under her jacket, forcibly stopping the beast but burning the edges of her shield into black crisps. She formed a cage around it, but with one bite it had burned through one bar and escaped. Tara threw cutting bolts of paper at it, but it seemed unfazed by the physical attack, merely absorbing the razor-sharp pieces of paper. She formed a tough sphere of paper around it, hoping to snuff out the flame from lack of oxygen, but its heat burned the paper before the sphere could be fully formed around him.

Calling back the sheets of paper from the useless cage, Tara formed a shield in front of herself, putting her back to the fountain. When the tiger leaped again, she was able to make the shield dense enough to repel it forcibly, seeming to daze the animal for a moment.

"You!" A man's voice called from somewhere in the courtyard, and Tara whirled around, looking for the source. A man appeared out of the shadows of the porch of Natalie French's Antique Store, a pad of paper in his hands and a pen in the other. He was nondescript in just about every way. "Where is the book?" he asked, his voice clear and cutting.

Tara frowned. "What are you talking about?"

The man started getting angry. "You know what book! Where is it?" His angry stance relaxed, however, and he stared just beyond Tara's head. Tara whirled around to see Willow, standing timidly at the entrance of the courtyard, Tara's two books clutched to her chest and looking like the high schooler she was.

"What's going on?" she asked, her green eyes wide as saucers. The tiger stood up from its daze and as Tara watched in horror, leaped toward the redhead, jaws wide open.

* * *

Author's Note: To sound like a broken record, sorry for the delay. I'm finally graduated (Yessss, going back to live with Mom!) and have mostly settled down. Settled meaning I'm interning (getting paid nothing for slavish labor) and then making pizza for living money. Welcome to the real world!

I promise a longer update next time.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V: A Californian Hippie in Downtown Sunnydale's Court

The tiger sprinted towards Willow, and with fear gripping her chest, Tara took two steps and then did a hop-skip. Like a baseball outfielder, she reared her right hand back, a stack of papers flying out of her jacket sleeves and into her hands. The papers first flowing and then whipping into the shape of a javelin, at the end of her hop, she threw it with all her might.

With her powers, the javelin flew true and hit the tiger right in the shoulder, in mid-leap, knocking it over and around Willow's body.

The nondescript man yelled something intelligible. The tiger gained its feet once more. "Give me the book or the girl meets her maker!" the man said. The tiger began running in circles around Willow, going so fast that it created a fiery ring around its captive. It then sat within the ring on its haunches.

Tara stood with her legs shoulder width apart, and contemplated for about two seconds. She decided that any man that would threaten a girl and bring a fire so close to a precious book was bad news and not to be trusted. She ran towards the ring, even managing a bit of a war cry. She let loose with a long stripe of paper, which unrolled and then attached itself to a light pole right above the tiger and Willow. She held on to her end and then lifted herself up and over the rim of the flames, landing gracefully within the circle. As soon as she landed and set herself in a crouch, she had the paper let go and then reform into a solid bow staff, which she then swept into the side of the tiger, surprised by her bold action, and tossed it out of the circle.

Allowing herself a small smile of triumph—though, honestly, she was still sitting in the middle of a ring of fire that the tiger had no problems going through—Tara rose to her feet. The light of the fire flashed in her glasses, hiding her exact expression. Willow had looked up at her at that moment and seen a vision of something otherworldly and too powerful for her to comprehend.

The nondescript man seemed to consider them a moment, before pulling out a pad of paper from his back pocket and a writing utensil. "Ah well, I'm sure a little charring on the cover will be forgiven," he said, calmly beginning to scribble on the paper.

The tiger suddenly took flight and ran away from them, towards the opposite side of the courtyard, but despite the fact that the ring of fire was now disappating, Tara didn't let her guard down. At the other side, the tiger whirled around and crouched. It then pulled its chin into its chest, like a lion about to roar or a cat trying to choke up a hairball.

No roaring or retching sounds issued forth; instead, there were the sound of gears and the whirring of mechanical parts—Tara had no idea how any part of its body could be made of metal. The sounds of industry grew louder until suddenly, they were silenced by a loud cocking noise. Tara's eyes flew wide.

"Assume crash positions!" she shouted in alarm, pulling Willow under her now crouching form and throwing another paper shield up. The tiger looked up from its crouched position, opened its mouth, and with a sound like a cannon, spewed out a fireball that slammed into the thin paper shield.

Tara had pulled Willow down and angled the shield acutely—it barely worked but it managed to deflect the blast instead of try to stop it completely, and consequently the fireball crashed right into the antique store behind them. The porch overhang was directly hit, the intricately carved eaves and porch railings serving as kindling for the quickly growing fire. Tara glanced at the damage for only a second—the poor antiques.

Despite the economy of her shield, the fireball had damaged it to the point that Tara was sure it would hardly last another blow. She poked her head out of her hiding place and spotted the tiger once again withdrawing into itself, preparing for another shot. Wildly, Tara looked for an avenue of escape or anything to inspire her.

A fire hydrant stood not three feet from the tiger. Desperately, Tara threw a line of paper at it, catching and wrapping around the connector that pointed towards the tiger. With a jerk of her hand, the paper that was wrapped around it turned sharp, and cut through the piping. A deluge of water, courtesy of the Sunnydale Water and Sewage Service, flew out of the new opening and completely covered the tiger with its spray. The beast roared as it was engulfed. Then it was silent.

As the heavy clouds of steam cleared away, the tiger had disappeared. The nondescript man looked shocked, and ran a hand through his hair. "You!" he shouted, pointing an index finger at Tara, still clutching his pen and paper. He furiously began scribbling at his pad, and then turned heel and ran. Tara began to run after him, watching as he rounded a corner of a house.

Before she could reach the porch he had been standing on, a lamb suddenly appeared. It was black and had huge, scary lamb-eyes. It opened its mouth, and instead of a tongue or a bleat coming out of it, the lamb began to sing.

It had the most beautiful voice Tara had ever heard. Like a siren's call, she walked slowly towards it, transfixed and staring at liquid eyes. She had no idea what words it was singing, or what the song was about, but it was definitely not about meadows, wool, or girls named Mary. Tara was only peripherally aware of Willow walking to her side and gawking as well.

Suddenly, the lamb stopped, chewed a little bit, and then disappeared.

Tara stared at where the lamb had been, before shaking her head.

She turned to Willow at the same time as the redhead turned to her. Willow was the first to ask. "What just happened?"

Tara stared back. "I have no idea," she replied. Coming to her senses, Tara rememebered the burning building. Running towards the fire hydrant, and using the last of her paper, she deflected the water towards the boutique until, all her papers sodden and worthless, the flames had been drowned.

Flicking droplets of water from her hands, Tara turned to Willow. The reason why she had run away in the first place came back to her, and she shyly looked down. She was petrified, not knowing what to say after all that Willow had just witnessed. She was sure that she was about to face yet another rejection of herself, not just romantically, but as a human being. At the top of her vision, through the tops of her glasses, she saw Willow's feet moving towards her and she held her breath.

Willow's face suddenly came into view as the girl bent down and angled herself so she could see into Tara's face. "Wow."

Tara blinked. She looked up, and Willow visibly looked grateful as she straightened. "Wow," she repeated.

"Really?" Tara asked, her voice small and her breath short.

"Oh, yes" Willow said, and Tara's breath rushed out of her in one long exhale. "You're like Spiderman and Wonder Woman put together!"

Now Tara blushed but she didn't look down.

Unbeknownst to the two of them, a black luxury car with darkly tinted windows pulled up to the curb behind them, and a man with graying hair exited from one of the back doors. He surveyed the sodden mass of papers and other debris, and spotted Tara and Willow in their own world. His eyes narrowed as he recognized one of them.

"The Paper," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

A/N: Who is this mysterious man? Will he be the impetus to create a more interesting chapter? Does he like carrots? Two of these questions will be answered in the next installment! Which I promise will come before year 2012. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Sixth: Goodbye, Sunnydale

From the shadows behind one of the courtyard buildings, the woman with obviously fake blonde hair watched as an older gentleman exited the back of a black car. He seemed unfazed by the soggy mess around him, taking it all in with a stalwartly serious expression. He seemed to start when he saw the two women, however, and after a moment's hesitation when he seemed to have muttered something to himself, he raised his chin and yelled across the courtyard.

"The Paper!" he shouted, getting the attention of the blonde woman, causing the redhead with her to turn as well. At this point, the shadowy woman turned away and left, soundlessly.

Tara saw the man calling her, and then turned back to Willow with a grimace. "Who is that?" Willow asked, squinting to see the bespectacled man.

Tara wrung her hands. "My boss," she answered. "I better go see him, then." She turned and started walking towards him, and nearly started in surprise when Willow began following her; in fact, the redhead drew up beside her, still clutching the books to her chest.

The pair drew up to the older man. "Mr. Rouge, hi," Tara began, nervously. "What brings you here?"

The man scrutinized her. "Actually, I was just driving through. Then reports came in over the radio about something on fire… truth be told, I didn't expect to see you here." His British accent came through clearly, and Willow, being a fan of English accents, listened to him intently.

He seemed to notice Willow's close attention and turned to her. "Madam, I hope you are unhurt. Do you need medical assistance?" Willow hardly paid attention to the words, so enthralled was she with his accent.

Tara stammering next to her drew her away, however. "Oh, u-uh, Mr. Rouge, this is Willow. Willow Rosenberg. She's one of my students." Her hands made gestures reminiscent of opening books and pointing towards her younger charge.

Rouge's eyebrows rose. "You know her?" When they both nodded, he seemed out of sorts. "Well, then, pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Rosenberg. Now, if you'll excuse us, Tara and I need to get some business taken care of." Briskly yet politely, he turned towards the car.

"A-actually, sir, could we give her a ride home?" Tara's voice was soft and unsure, as always. Rouge closed his eyes for a slow blink, and then turned back to her. "Of course," he replied, courteously, sweeping an arm ahead of him towards the car. The door was still open, and Tara entered first, then Willow, and finally Rouge. The inside of the car was spacious enough, with two rows of seats that faced each other. Willow and Tara sat on one side, Rouge on the other.

"So…" Willow began, uncomfortable with long moments of silence. "How are you, Mr. Rouge?" She noticed the man seemed to blush a little at the mention of his name, but shrugged it off.

"Ah, excellent," Rouge replied quickly, as if realizing he was being somewhat rude. "Are you a student of Ms. Tara's, Miss Rosenberg?"

Willow nodded. "Yeah, she substituted my English class today."

"She's a writer, too," Tara added, unable to help herself and bursting with pride that she knew THE Willow Rosenberg.

Rouge looked out the window for a moment. "Ah yes, books. I don't read as much as I used to. Haven't been able to get around to it…" He looked thoughtful.

Willow's curiosity was piqued. "What is it that you do, Mr. Rouge?"

He blushed again. "Ah, I'm in charge of a library, of sorts."

"And Tara works for you?" Willow asked. Tara definitely could be a librarian, with her super knowledge of books. Then again, Tara seemed way too cool to be a librarian, merely pulling carts between shelving units all day. The job simply didn't seem glamorous enough for Tara's beauty.

"Part-time," Tara answered for them, giving Willow a small smile at her curiosity.

The ride towards Willow's house was quiet, with Willow only occasionally giving directions to the driver. She was burning with more questions to ask Mr. Rouge, specifically about Tara, but she realized any further inquiry would be a little too nosy.

When they arrived, Willow scooted out. Noticing the books in her arms, she gave them over to Tara. "Oh, I didn't get to sign them," Willow said, absently searching her pockets for pens. Tara pouted, just a little bit. Willow stared at the full lips before being hit by a realization. "Oh, but I could bring a pen to the movies!" She checked her watch, noting that there was still about two and a half hours before their scheduled 'date'. Her brow furrowed. "Are we still going to…?" Her voice trailed off when she saw Rouge, one eyebrow raised. "… study the movie for that class?" she finished.

Tara blinked. "Um, sure, call me right before and I'll let you know if we've finished our business for today," she replied, absently waving as Willow energetically waved back and shut the door, scampering through her front lawn and into her house. Tara noted the cookie-cutter style of the house the resembled half of the other houses in this neighborhood. 'Ah, suburban master planning at its best', Tara thought. 'Seems nice.'

'Ugh, suburban master planning at its best,' Rouge noted with distaste, remembering the maze-like neighborhoods of his own childhood home.

Tara turned back to Rouge as the car drove away, clutching the books to her as if hoping to soak up every bit of warmth remaining from the previous holder. Rouge eyed her thoughtfully, guessing as to what was going on in his employee's mind. Clearing his throat, he brought her out of her reverie, her eyes focusing on him. She blushed madly and murmured, "Oh, sorry, Mr. Rouge."

He winced, then brought a remote control out of his jacket's inner pocket and pressed a few buttons, causing a screen to come down from the ceiling of the car. "Please, Tara, I appreciate that you used my codename while with Ms. Rosenberg, but since we're in private, I again request that you call me Giles." Though the move to the Head of the British Library Special Forces was a dream come true, the codename he had to take upon his promotion was God-awful. It was tradition that the first syllables of the first and last names were used, and for the two previous heads of the Library Force, it had worked out fine. Joseph Carpenter was deemed 'Joker', and Watson Churchill was 'Watcher', but Rupert Giles rued the day he was dubbed 'Rouge'. It made him sound like a character from Rocky Horror Picture Show, an image he did not like being produced in the minds of his staff. Alas, tradition was tradition.

At Tara's nod, Giles pressed another button on the remote and images began working their way across the screen. It appeared to be the White House, on fire. "Last night," Giles briefed, "the White House and the Library of Congress were attacked. Several security forces were killed, but the President and his family, as well the staff of the library, were not harmed. The buildings themselves, however, withstood much damage. The unknown perpetrators seemed to be looking for something, and the Library has reported that it seemed that specific articles were stolen." The picture flashed to an area of the Library that seemed less damaged than the others in terms of fire or explosions, but appeared to have been ransacked. "What were stolen were some early British novels, first edition copies, such as Joseph Andrew's "Pamela" to Jonathan Swift's "Gulliver's Travels". No word yet on why they destroyed the buildings for these books."

Tara looked thoughtful. She peeled the books from her chest and picked out the German one. "I was attacked by a fiery tiger thingy, and the guy controlling it wanted this book." Giles peered at the title, and then reached for it, Tara handing it over suspiciously. As she suspected, Giles took a good look at it and then laid it next to him.

Her heart fell as she heard the words, "We'll have the Library take a closer look at this book." Pouting, Tara looked out of the window. Giles hid a grin at Tara's typically cute behavior about books.

Tara suddenly blinked and her eyes flew to meet Giles'. "So that means, no movie, huh?"

Giles looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. In light of this new information, Mr. Gentleman is going to want to see you and ask about all this. Try to think of a plausible excuse to tell Ms. Rosenberg."

Tara turned her head and stared forlornly out of window, as the car accelerated onto the freeway towards the airport. She felt her throat close up and balk at the thought of lying to her new crush, as if a spell had been cast over her voice. 'You're special, Willow,' she thought. 'But I can't tell you, yet.'

TBC

Author's Note: I have this icky habit of writing a chapter, then letting it sit there for a month before looking at it again and realizing that I could go ahead and upload it. On one hand, it's nice to come back to them and slap my palm to my forehead at how crappy my writing seems to be, but I realize that it's a freakin' long process and will I get with the program already? And of course I've decided to start another story, too. Such is the mind of an ARTISTE. You can't chain down ART!

Ahem. So, yes. Next chapter hopefully sooner than later.


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